Chance encounters on Diagon Alley
by odyssey1
Summary: An innocent lunch with Oliver Wood spins 7th year Hermione's life completely around. They're dragged into a murder case & discover most disturbing things about themselves, Voldemort and the OotP. A tale of mystery, romance and humor. Please RR! :-)
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer : This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
  
Spoilers : all five books, to be safe  
  
Time frame :Hermione is in her 7th year  
  
Feedback : Yes, PLEASE! I LOVE getting feedback! ;-)  
  
~*~*~*~ CHANCE ENCOUNTERS ON DIAGON ALLEY - PROLOGUE ~*~*~*~  
  
It had been years since she had had to enter that place. Time after time she had invented more and more improbable excuses which would allow her to flee to safer places, escaping the sinister shadow of the place. She had seen sensible grown men enter it and come out with a stupid grin that made you question their mental sanity! However, today Hermione Granger knew that no excuse could postpone the confrontation any longer. Ron's birthday was nearing and it was the last opportunity to get a gift for him. So for the sake of friendship Hermione straightened her back in determination, clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and mustered all of her Gryffindor courage. With trembling hands she reached for the wooden door and - entered the halls of doom!  
  
The cheerful ringing of the doorbell announced Hermione's entrance into `Quality Quidditch Supplies´. `There,´ she thought satisfied, `You've done it. Now let's just get this over with and flee as fast as possible.´  
  
Brushing a strand of bushy brown hair out of her face, Hermione looked around curiously. To her surprise the well-lit room gave off a warm and homey atmosphere as piles of books (on Quidditch, of course) lay next to some boxes of Quaffles, which leaned on shelves containing all kinds of fan merchandise you could imagine (and quite a lot that you couldn't!). Orange Chudley Cannon-cups stood next to yellow London Lions-pencils, blue Puddlemere United-flags (with Morgan O'Donnell, the team-captain, waving cheerfully on his broom) and purple Glasgow Giants-scarves. And there! - in the far corner of the shop, there it was! Ron Weasley's heart's desire: a book by the fanciful name of `Chudley Cannons - the Chronic!´  
  
A smile of pure and unmarred relief spread over Hermione's face as she quickly made her way over to the shelf which held her key out of here. `Only one book left!,´ Hermione noted as she approached, `but one will more than suffice.´ Feeling more confident by the second, she reached for the prized possession as suddenly - the book disappeared to the other side of the shelf! Quickly, Hermione grabbed it and pulled with the force of a desperate woman. However, the book refused to come to her where it belonged! Instead, something pulled it back with equal force! Not about to be undone by a rogue book, Hermione pressed her lips together in determination and doubled her efforts. This book was hers!  
  
And most suddenly, it was indeed. She had barely time to acknowledge the fact that her prey was safely in her hands, as gravity reared its ugly head and the startled young woman found herself falling back, landing in an undignified heap on her behind.  
  
"Ouch!" she yelped more in surprise then in pain, still clutching the book to her chest protectively.  
  
"Sorry," a voice answered almost instantly, "I didn't see -" The tall, broad form of a young man came out from behind the shelf. "Wait! I know you!" he cried, then frowned, obviously thinking hard. "You haven't been to one of my matches, have you?"  
  
Hermione shook her head adamantly. Not even Viktor had been able to persuade her to watch his matches!  
  
"No, apparently not!" he laughed as he held out a large calloused hand to help her up. "I'm convinced I know you, I just can't remember where."  
  
"I'm Hermione Granger," the bushy-haired woman introduced herself and watched as recognition lit up the stranger's face.  
  
"Of course!" he grinned, "You bewitched my Seeker's glasses to repel the rain in my last year! You were wearing your school robes, a Gryffindor- scarf and a dark-blue raincoat." He recalled matter-of-factly before his gaze turned darker. "You also handed in his Firebolt to Professor McGonagall. A Firebolt! And you just turned it in!"  
  
The manic glint in his eyes as he recalled the - doubtlessly traumatic - events told Hermione everything that she needed to know. "Oliver Wood?" she asked carefully.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Oh my." The situation had just gotten more dangerous than Hermione had expected. Wood was a manic when it came to Quidditch! He was even crazier than Ron - and that was saying something! Plastering a huge fake smile on her face Hermione carefully planned her retreat. However, her plans had no time to grow past the turn around-and-RUN!-phase as Oliver, who had obviously decided to see past the Firebolt-incident (considering that Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup in the end), placed his warm hand on her shoulder and gave her a dazzling smile.  
  
"I never thought you'd be the type of girl who gets interested in Quidditch. I was under the impression that you were only there to watch over Harry, but hey! I'm not complaining! It's always nice when people see the light," he winked at her and pointed to the orange Chudley Cannons-book, "Although you seem to cheer for the wrong team."  
  
"Really? And what team should I cheer for in your opinion?"  
  
"I hear Puddlemere United has a damn good reserve Keeper. Devilishly handsome, too." Oliver grinned, his eyes twinkling like Dumbledore's.  
  
Having no idea what he was talking about Hermione nodded distractedly as they both made their way to the cashier's stand, where she finally purchased Ron's present, Oliver at her side.  
  
"So," he inquired curiously, "What turned you into a Quidditch-fan?"  
  
Hermione sighed. He looked positively enthusiastic about having discovered her `interest´ for Quidditch, reminding her eerily of a little boy who had just found his long lost teddy bear again. Not that Hermione ever wanted to be compared to a plush toy! A look into those lively hazel eyes of his convinced her that she could not just shatter this illusion. She would probably never see him again, anyway, Hermione tried to rationalize her behaviour as she felt herself beaming up at Oliver. "I've only just acquired the taste."  
  
"Well, better late then never. We'll have to fix that Chudley Cannon- problem, though." Wood's whole face lit up as an idea occurred to him. "I have a bit of free time and if you like, I could invite you to a butterbeer - and turn you into a Puddlemere United-fan while we're at it!"  
  
"You think you can convince me that easily?" A part of her was shocked to discover the flirtatious tone that had crept into her voice. Oliver, however, smiled, still amazed at all the facets he was discovering about this young woman. Back in school it had never occurred to him that bookworm-Granger could be so full of surprises! His curiosity had thoroughly awoken and he flashed his most charming smile at her.  
  
"I love challenges," Oliver grinned as he led Hermione out of the shop and into the warm sunlight that illuminated Diagon Alley with its golden afternoon-rays.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Please leave a review if you feel like it :) 


	2. 02

For disclaimer  please see chapter 01. 

A/N: I'm incredibly sorry for the lack of updates, but real life had gripped me tightly in its claws and there was just no escape until now. Anyway, I thank you all for your wonderful comments and support. It means so much to me. Virtual schnoogles to all of you! :-)

Noooow – let's get the story rolling, shall we? ;-)

~*~*~*~

The small pub where Oliver led Hermione to was located a bit aside from the energetic hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley but still close enough to the busy street to make one feel part of the action. Inside the pub, which was miraculously well-ventilated, the cheerful chattering of wizards and witches of every age filled the air, along with the clattering of dishes, the smell of food and – every now and again – the sound of explosions from the kitchen. 

"So," Oliver said with beaming eyes, "Here I was – on the one side there was this Beater with a Bludger while on the other side a Chaser approached with the Quaffle. It was only evade and let them score or – keep your post and get hit." He gesticulated enthusiastically, pointing to the Quidditch-field he had created with the help of various dishes, two forks and a spoon ("These are the goalposts, Hermione!"), a saltcellar and everything else the young Keeper could get his hands on. However, all this did nothing to increase Hermione's understanding of the mystery that was Quidditch. On the other hand, although Oliver could have easily spoken in a different language, she _did _enjoy herself by simply watching him. Wood's eyes were ablaze with life, sparkling in excitement as he recalled - doubtlessly fascinating – moves he had blocked as a Keeper. Every now and then she would nod in agreement and gasp in what she hoped were the right places, then go back to watching him blissfully. 

"Well?" Oliver looked at her with big eyes, obviously awaiting an answer. Hermione swallowed nervously. Just _what _exactly had he been talking about? 

"Um…," she said intelligently, "That's really impressing. Really. Wow!" 

Oliver's grin deepened. "You really think so? You're not just saying it?"

"No, honestly!" Hermione improvised, "I didn't think that was possible!" 

At that point Oliver's self-restraint failed him and the brunette Keeper dissolved into a fit of helpless laughter. 

`Oops,´ Hermione thought. `Obviously that was the wrong answer.´

"Hermione," he gasped, "I just said that Professor Snape and Flitwick invaded the Quidditch pitch clad only in pink bikinis, demanding to eat the Quaffle!" He wiped a few tears of mirth out of his eyes. "You didn't understand a word of what I've said, did you?" 

Hermione smiled guiltily. "Actually, no," she admitted sheepishly, "But has anybody ever told you that you have an utterly fascinating way of re-telling things? I don't think I've ever seen anyone _live _their narration like you do." 

"Well, thank you, I guess. Most people get scared as soon as I say the word Quidditch´." He thought for a short moment. "Except for my team-mates, of course; But they're obsessed with the sport!" 

"While you're not?" Hermione inquired with amusement while Oliver raised his hands defensively, looking like a picture of  innocence. 

"Of course not! I'm just…thoroughly focused." 

Hermione snorted in a most unlady-like manner. "So that's what they call it these days." 

"Well, yes," Oliver smiled, "You know how they say that every generation has…"

A sharp scream put a sudden halt to their conversation as the pub exploded into panic. People exchanged worried glances and already cries of "It's them! The Death Eaters!" could be heard. Wizards warily reached for their wands and pointed them at random objects while the initial screaming was now joined by a second voice. (1)

"What the –?" Hermoine's brows knit together as years of being part of the Trio Infernale - as she, Ron and Harry had been called lately -  paid off and she shot up from her seat, wand held tightly in her hand. "Stay here," the petite woman commanded in a brusque tone and turned to investigate. However, she was held back by Oliver's firm grip on her arm. 

"Lead on, but don't expect me to leave you alone," he said, excitement enhancing the Keeper's Scottish accent. His eyes held hers for a short moment and Hermione accepted that arguing with him would only waste precious time. 

"The scream came from the kitchen, didn't it?" she inquired instead. 

"Guess so," Oliver nodded and guided her through the raging and jostling crowd. 

~*~*~

Todd Barrett stood amid the centre of chaos that had previously been the kitchen of his peaceful pub. The cook, a middle-aged witch by the name of Polly Graham, still stood trembling on the very spot where she had been when an earth-shattering scream had erupted from her lungs. Her cheeks were pale with a few red spots of distress while her eyes darted wildly around the kitchen, looking for…actually Todd didn't know what the poor woman was looking for. 

"Alright everyone," he chocked in a strangled voice, "Does anybody have an idea how this…_corpse…_got into the refrigerator?" 

Polly let out a sob while customers were pushing their way into the kitchen, morbidly curious about what had caused the commotion. Todd gulped back the bitter taste in his mouth and pushed them back. "There's nothing to see here," he roared in a voice that somehow sounded more secure than he felt. "Please get back to your tables! Everything's safe and – Oliver!" Todd's face broke into a relieved smile as he spotted the familiar face. 

"Todd!" the burly young man pushed another bystander aside while waving a hand at his friend. "Todd! Over here! Let us through!" 

Todd did just that and a few moments later Oliver Wood, reserve Keeper and trouble magnet extraordinaire, managed to lock the kitchen door firmly in front of the curious customers while Hermione examined the content of the large refrigerator with a look of clinical detachment on her face. "Herm-?" Oliver started, worried that the delicate-looking young woman might be under shock, but was interrupted by her.

"Has anybody called in the Aurors? I believe this is a job for them," she stated firmly," Oh! And we should better close the refrigerator-door otherwise the ice will melt and evidence might be destroyed. We should also list up everyone who has touched the fridge so far and …Oliver? Are you feeling well?" 

He nodded feebly, fighting down the waves of heat and nausea that shot through his body as realization of what had happened slowly set in. Here he had been trying to get re-acquainted to an old school friend (who had incidentally turned into an attractive young lady) and ended up involved in a murder case. Oliver shook his head. When had his life become so complicated? Why was this schoolgirl so calm? And why was she trembling? And spinning around? For that matter, why was the whole room spinning? So fast…

~*~*~

Oliver awoke to the touch of something cool and smooth on his forehead. It felt…nice. Carefully he opened his eyes, then shut them quickly again as bright sunlight blinded him. Involuntarily he let out a low moan.

"Do you feel a bit better?" a concerned voice broke through his cloudy thoughts and the cool something on his head moved away. `No,´ he protested inwardly, `Don't leave just yet.´ 

"Oliver," the voice insisted, "how do you feel?" 

"Like I've been hit by a couple of mad Bludgers," he groaned, oblivious of the amused smile the other person wore as she listened to his thick accent. "Really, _really _mad Bludgers," he added for emphasis and ventured to open his eyes once more. 

"There," Hermione smiled, "it's not so bad now, is it? Try to drink something." She held out a glass of water which he took gratefully. 

"What happened?" Oliver asked between careful sips. 

"You fainted," came the dry reply. 

"I did not." 

"You did. Actually you fell right on top of…" Hermione stopped and blushed. Then her smile became soft and understanding. "It's o.k., Oliver. Really. You've never seen a dead person before, have you?"

Quietly he shook his head, then fought down the resulting dizziness. "No, but you have, don't you?"

Hermione nodded sadly, obviously lost in a swirl of memories. "Yes. You can't be a friend of Harry and not get dragged into this…mess." 

Oliver felt a sudden sharp pang of regret for the boy-who-lived and his close friends. He had never really given a thought to the kind of tragedies they had to face every since their first year. Quietly he took Hermione's hand and squeezed it gently. 

She gave him a watery smile before getting up in a whoosh of nervous energy. "Anyway," Hermione informed the young Scotsman as she paced trough the room, "a couple of Aurors arrived shortly after you passed out and shut the area off from the public. Your friend Todd  Barrett and the employees have been sent up here to wait for their turn to get interrogated and – it's really very practical that Todd also owns the little inn over the pub, isn't it? How do you know him, anyway? I bet you know a lot of interesting people, being a famous Quidditch player and all and I've actually been to the World Cup once back in…"

"Hermione." 

"No really, right before my fourth year. It was –"

"Hermione!" 

"And there were all these stupid Veelas and did I ever mention how utterly annoying they are? Ron was totally –" 

"HERMIONE!"

She stopped and gave Oliver a wide-eyed look. "Yes?"

"You're babbling."

"Am not." 

Oliver barely suppressed a smile as he reached for her hands once more as soon as she came into relatively close proximity again. "Yes, you are, Hermione." 

"I –" she sat down next to the Keeper, "It's really odd, you know. I keep my cool in the middle of a crisis, but as soon as it's over…I just…start feeling everything I should have felt during the crisis in the first place? Like `retard-feelings´ or something." She gave a dry laugh that might as well have been a sob and Oliver felt a surge of protectiveness. So she wasn't as hard and unfeeling as he had thought down in the kitchen. She merely dealt with it in her own unique way. How utterly fascinating. 

"So," Hermione finally broke the silence, "what now?" 

A knock on the door decided that question for them. 

~*~*~*~

Next chapter: Two familiar characters make their way into the story as the Aurors who are investigating the case. The Order of the Phoenix gets involved, Hermione learns about a special talent of Olivers' and Harry remains blissfully ignorant. 

I hope I'll be able to update next weekend. Till then – have a nice week! :-)

(1) You might ask yourself at this point why a simple scream sends a room full of wizards into a full-blown panic. Well, this story takes place in a time when Voldemort's reign of terror has reached a new high and the Wizarding World has finally accepted his existence. People are terrified and paranoid, so that every trivial thing can catalyse an explosion of panic. However, as it turns out this chapter, the "thing" is not so trivial after all. – odyssey :-)


	3. 03

For disclaimer please see chapter 01. 

Spoilers: There are HEAVY spoilers for OotP! 

A/N: Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for reviewing! Comments to my poor, neglected readers can be found at the bottom. But now – enjoy (hopefully ;-) ) !

The OC's: 

- Todd Garrett  : owner of the pub and the inn called `The queasy Bludger´, friend of Olivers'  

- Polly Graham : cook at `The queasy Bludger´ 

- Shauna, Lydia & Daphne : waitresses at `The queasy Bludger´

~*~*~*~

"So," the blue-haired lady said. 

"So…" Todd Garrett, owner of `The queasy Bludger´ answered, brows furrowed in

concentration. "Um…so what?"

"So what do you think? Do these kind of things happen often around here?" 

Todd laughed humourlessly. "Do you mean if my pub is often used as a place to dump

corpses? No, not really. It's just a pub after all."

"Right. Sorry, that's not what I meant," she sighed, scrunching up her rather large

hooked nose. "So let me rephrase, please. Do you know the victim? Or maybe you might have a theory why he was `dumped´ - as you so charmingly put it – in your pub. Surely there must be a reason for that."

Todd shook his head. "No, Miss Tonks. I have absolutely no idea about the identity of 

the poor man."

"Hm. Alright. Who has access to the kitchen?" 

"Well, Polly Graham, of course," Todd shrugged, "then there are the waitresses, Shauna,

Lydia and Daphne."

Tonks scribbled the names down (she simply _had _to get one of Kingsely's enchanted

quills Tonks decided as her fingers cramped up from writing), content with the fact that at least there weren't too many people who had access to the crime scene. Maybe this case would prove to be not as complicated as she had feared in the end. 

"Oh wait!" Todd suddenly cried, "I forgot the delivery crewmen and - of course – the

kitchen is open to the pub so we can reach the guests more easily. So if you think about it…"he trailed off miserably, "If you think of it everybody can enter the kitchen from the pub…"

"…which can also be entered by everyone." They finished together. Tonks' shoulders

sank. Maybe this case was going to be even more complicated than she had thought before. 

~*~*~*~*~

Polly Graham finished her tale with a loud, pitiful wail. Black mascara ran down her

cheeks, following the tears of distress she had been unable to suppress as she recalled the _incident ,_as she referred to it in her mind. The middle-aged witch blew her nose with flourish, then her blue eyes settled back on the tall dark man before her. "And that," she said in a shaking voice, "that is all I know." 

The man nodded sympathetically and gave her a compassionate smile while his 

enchanted quill furiously scribbled down her report."Every little detail helps, Madam." He assured her in his deep baritone as he took out a small card from his pocket and handed it to the flustered Polly. "Just in case that you remember anything else, Mrs. Graham, this my office. Any messages will be forwarded to me immediately."  

A final nod and he swept out of the room, robes billowing behind him mysteriously.

Kingsley Shacklebolt did not hear the sigh that left Polly's lips as he left. 

~*~*~*~

Upon entering the small room where the next witnesses were waiting to make their

report Kingsely hadn't expected to see a familiar face, much less to find a member of the Order of the Phoenix waiting for him. Nevertheless, it was nobody else but his well-known junior-colleague Hermione Granger who jumped back from a young man as if she had been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. Kingsley had to suppress a sudden urge to laugh at the young woman's flustered appearance. The youngest Weasley boy would not be pleased when he learned of Hermione's new-found interest, the Auror mused. Still, he could not endanger his position as a member of the Order in front of this unknown youth. You never knew…

"You must be one of the Aurors who have been sent to sort out this mess, aren't you?

I'm Hermione Granger and this is Oliver Wood. Do you want to write down our names?" Obviously Hermione had already recalled that they did not know each other in public and Kingsely gave her a half-smile for her thoughtfulness. He was starting to believe the rumours that this petite woman was the smartest witch of her generation. 

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he introduced himself, "My partner, Nymphadora Tonks, and I

are indeed here to `sort out this mess´." Kingsely smiled down at the two and took a seat next to Hermione's silent companion, who was busy disentangling himself from the bed-sheets, blushing ever so slightly in the process. There was a story behind this, Kingsely mused and resolved that further investigations concerning those two were due as soon as he found some spare time. He picked up his enchanted quill and tapped it lightly with his wand. "May I?" the tall Auror inquired politely. 

"Sure," Wood supplied, giving Kinsley a first taste of his Scottish accent. A light bulb

went on inside Shacklebolt's head – Tonks had once explained to him that women went crazy over accents. And chocolate, she had added with a conspiring wink, but he hadn't paid much attention to that particular fact. He cleared his throat. "Well, let's start at the beginning. What did you two do this morning just before the corpse was found?" 

"Eat." Obviously Wood wasn't a man of many words. 

"Right. When was that?" 

"It must have been about twelve o'clock," Hermione supplied, "We were halfway

through lunch when there was a terrible scream from the kitchen."

Kingsely's quill scratched over the parchment in excitement, every now and then

sending drops of ink over the corners of the paper. Kingsley gestured for Hermione to continue. 

"There was a sudden panic where half the guests were trying to flee the pub, while the

other half tried to get to the kitchen – probably to find out what has happened. Oliver and I also went for the kitchen, where we were let in by Todd Garrett, the owner of the pub. He's a friend of Oliver's." 

Kingsley raised a broad eyebrow. "How long have you known Mr. Garrett?" 

Oliver shrugged nonchalantly (which was a hard thing to do, considering the fact that he

was still fighting a loosing battle against the bed-sheets). "A couple of friends and I always used to come to "The queasy Bludger" in the holidays back when I was still in school. Todd quickly found out that I was captain of the Quidditch team of my house. He tended to give me advice." Wood smiled ruefully, "Mostly the kind of advice that ensures that you loose the match."

"So you're just acquaintances?" 

"Actually, we're pretty close friends by now."

Kingsley slipped into what Tonks liked to call his `interrogator´-mode. His back

straightened just a little while his hands started to knot themselves in a distracting way. "Since when is `now´, Mr. Wood?" 

The Scotsman furrowed his brows. "Since I applied for the position on Puddlemere

United's reserve team. With all due respect, sir, how does this relate to the case?"

"Background information." 

"I'm not what you'd call an expert on these matters, but I would have thought that 

background information on the victim might be more important." 

Kingsley snorted and opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Hermione

who was wearing a forced smile. 

"Well, now that we've cleared up the priorities, let's get back to the topic, shall we?

Auror Shacklebolt, do you already have a suspect?" Her eyes pleaded with Kingsely to let the matter drop. He nodded slightly, knowing he would get all the information he wanted from Hermione later. 

"Isn't it me who should ask the questions here?" Kingsley inquired with a smile. 

"Ask away, then!" Hermione beamed. 

~*~*~*~

Interrogation proved to be a tricky thing. It was half an hour after Kingsley had started

talking to Oliver and Hermione and all he'd gotten was a relatively detailed account by Hermoine and monosyllables from Oliver. Kingsely fervently hoped that Tonks had had more luck in gathering useful information. Frustrated he cleared his throat. "So, now that we've settled when the pub was built, what you've eaten, what book you've bought and why the Chudley Cannons are not to be supported, we should bring our attention to the victim. Was there anything special you noticed about him?" 

"You mean besides the fact that he was dead?" Oliver inquired dryly. Kingsely

frowned. He was starting to question Hermione's taste in men. However, it was once more Hermione who dissolved the tension. 

"He was frozen stiff, you see. There was ice all over him, but his clothes and skin

looked unmarred. As if he hadn't fought back at all." 

"So you believe that he was already dead when he was put into the fridge?" 

Hermione nodded. "I think so. They wouldn't have been able to do so anyway if he

was still alive. Someone would have heard something." 

"True," Kingsely acknowledged, throwing a weary look at the pile of parchments his

quill was producing. There went his free weekend. "So we can say that the victim was killed in a way that didn't harm him physically and then…" 

"No, we can't." Wood was staring intently at the opposite wall, his eyes clouded. 

"Excuse me, but I was under the impression that I am the expert on this as you so

kindly reminded me, Mr. Wood." The Auror interjected, then halted as he saw the young man's eyes. Could it be? Kingsely changed his tactics. "When you looked at the body, Mr. Wood, what did you see?" 

"His eyes were closed," Oliver recalled, "His face seemed relaxed and so did his entire

body. His clothes were slightly crumpled as if they had been slept in. There were dark circles under his eyes…" 

Hermione threw Kingsely a confused look. "How?" she mouthed but the Auror

gestured for her to keep quiet and the Oliver speak.

"There was a small trail of blood on the floor leading from or to the fridge. It could

have been from some meat they were storing there but it also might have been from the victim. Next to him hung about twelve steaks, fourteen slices of…"

"That's enough, Mr. Wood. _Enervate!_" Kingsely touched Oliver's shoulder gently

with his wand and with a sudden start the Scotsman seemed to come back to the present. He blinked a few times, then his eyes focused on Hermione. 

"Hi there," he smiled, "My mind was wandering again, wasn't it? Pay no mind to that.

It happens sometimes. Nothing to worry about." 

With a worried expression she reached for his hands. "This has happened before

today? What if your mind goes wandering during a practice? You could get hurt and not even notice!" 

Oliver shook his head. "It happens very seldom. Don't worry, I'm not going to let

anybody score just because my mind is a bit distracted."

"What you've done right now, Mr. Wood, is more than just being a bit distracted,"

Kingsley's calm voice broke in. "You're an eidetic, aren't you?" 

"Huh?" Oliver shot him a confused look as Hermione's eyes suddenly went wide in

realization. 

"Of course! It means that you're able to recall every visual impression to the very last

detail!" 

"I can?" Wood seemed sceptic about the whole idea. 

"Yes, Mr. Wood," Kingsely cut in, "It's a very rare ability in wizards. It's very useful,

but also dangerous as the mind of an eidetic is constantly threatened to get an overload of information and shuts off from the real world. Come to think of it, Mr. Wood, you should be under constant observation so that you're not alone when your mind decides to take a `time out´. Playing Quidditch, of course, is out of the question. You'll have to quit, I'm afraid." 

Oliver was on his feet in a fraction of a second. "I will _not._" He glared down at the

Auror who returned his gaze evenly. 

"That is your decision, Mr. Wood. I'm simply informing you that every time you

climb a broom, you're putting yourself in mortal danger." 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Look for chapter 04 next weekend! Please let me know if you want to be notified when I update :) 

Next chapter: Kingsely starts investigating the murder-case and Oliver, Hermione does the same and Oliver is in denial. Harry is still ignorant. ;-)

Comments: 

A large, huge `Thank you!!!´ to **Phire Phoenix, Headmaster Cromwell, Dragon Scales1, Alazne, Lid'l Rogue, Princess Jedi, Shannon Potter-Wood, Queenofdiamonds1, Ellie Bell**

I was a bit nervous about chapter 02, because it took the story into a whole new direction. You people really give me confidence to carry this on. A heartfelt thank you for that J

· **Kellie**: A special `thank you´ to you for being tolerant. It's great to see that people appreciate the effort put into a story even if it doesn't feature their preferred pairing. 

· **Demetre Ironhilt**: Thanks for your nice review. Poor Hermione is sure getting in over her head, but then again – so is Oliver! 

· **Aquilastor: **Hermione the Quidditch fan – I have to expand that aspect a bit more. On the other hand, who can blame her with such a charming Quidditch-instructor? ;-)****

· **PAWaterScorpion8:** Thanks so much for putting me on your favourites! I feel very special now & I'll try to live up to it! J ****

· **L'eau Goddess: **Thank you for your kind words. Personally, I always thought that Snape would look great in pink. He'll have to get rid of that `hairy legs´-problem, though. ;-)****


	4. 04

For disclaimer please see prologue.  
  
A/N and individual `Thank you's´ for the kind reviewers can be found at the end of the chapter. :)  
  
The OC's:  
  
1. Todd Garrett : owner of the pub and the inn called `The queasy  
Bludger´, friend of Olivers'  
  
1. Polly Graham : cook at `The queasy Bludger´  
  
1. Don Halcombe : Chaser for Puddlemere United  
  
1. Shauna, Lydia & Daphne : waitresses at `The queasy Bludger´  
  
~*~*~*~ CHAPTER 03 ~*~*~*~  
  
"That is your decision, Mr. Wood. I'm simply informing you that every time you climb broom, you're putting yourself in mortal danger."  
  
Those dark words, spoken by Kingsley Shacklebolt, had kept Oliver Wood from playing Quidditch for about fifteen minutes, which was exactly the time it took the Keeper to get to the stadium where Puddlemere United was usually training. Of course - and maybe just to spite the older man - Oliver hadn't even bothered to Apparate from `The queasy Bludger´ but took off on his broom instead (deftly ignoring Hermione's protests).  
  
It was now half an hour later and Oliver Wood was in his element, namely the sky. Wind rushed through his hair and teared at his clothes while fresh, vibrant air filled his lungs. This was life! A powerful surge of pure joy went through the Scotsman as he performed a playful loop on his broomstick before catching the Quaffle easily.  
  
"Good catch, Wood!" Don Halcombe, Puddlemere United's most experienced chaser cheered. "One day we'll make a proper Keeper out of you!"  
  
"Give me some challenges, then, Don!" Oliver laughed, feeling at ease with the whole world, "Try to score, why don't you?"  
  
The wind carried Don's deep laughter over. "Insolent brat! Try to catch this!"  
  
And with the astonishing speed that had made Don Halcombe a living legend, the Chaser took hold of the Quaffle and raced towards the goalposts. Oliver couldn't keep himself from grinning broadly. This was exactly what he had been dreaming of ever since the ripe age of three. Don came closer, apparently aiming for the left hoop and Oliver felt his muscles flex in anticipation. If he flew towards the left hoop now, Don would surely change his direction, so Oliver had no choice but stay put and ready himself for a fast sprint. Don raced closer, his face a mask of pure concentration. They were living the game. Oliver fixed his eyes on Don's right arm, knowing that its movement would tell him which hoop Don was actually aiming for. A drop of sweat made its way down Oliver's spine but the young man barely noticed it. There! The left - no! - Don was aiming for the right hoop! Throwing back his weight Oliver turned his broom around and reached out for the Quaffle. It brushed against the tips of his fingers.he almost.but no! A claxon announced Don's goal as the older man shot Oliver a smug look.  
  
"Enough of a challenge, lad?" The Chaser grinned.  
  
"That was mean, you know?" Oliver shot back as Don threw his head back in laughter.  
  
"You look just like my two-year old son when I'm telling him that there will be no more candies for him!"  
  
Wood sniffed in mock indignation. "Go ahead. Stomp on my fragile ego."  
  
Don was about to reply as a voice drifted up to the two Quidditch players. "Wood! Come down here! Your girlfriend's here to see you!"  
  
Don raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you had time for a girlfriend, Wood. What happened to `I live for Quidditch´? "  
  
Oliver frowned. "Nothing did. I didn't realize I even have a girlfriend!" With a final wave the Scotsman descended towards the ranks, where a small dark figure clad in a red and golden shawl was waiting for him.  
  
~*~*~  
  
"Hermione? What are you doing here?"  
  
The petite bushy-haired woman looked sternly at the muscular Quidditch- player. "The real question is, what are you doing here?"  
  
"Ummm.my job? I'm a Quidditch-player, you know? I play Quidditch." Oliver could swear he heard Hermione growl at him.  
  
"You're not supposed to fly in your..." she lowered her voice, "in your condition." Hermione pushed her hair out of her face, reached for a bag next to her and pulled out a thick, dusty book. "I've been researching `eidetics´," she informed him crisply, "and there are some things we'll need to discuss."  
  
"We do?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. He hadn't been aware that he had to discuss anything with Hermione. Obviously this was turning into a day of startling revelations, the Kepper thought wryly.  
  
"Of course we do. Since you obviously have no idea of what you are capable of, I felt that it's of vital importance for you to know the risks of being an eidetic."  
  
Oliver shook his head, torn between annoyance and a grudging admittance that the bushy- haired hellion in front of him was right. Sighing, he reached a decision. "Well, since last time we went out together turned out to be so fascinating, I guess we should give it another try, hm? How about `The Leaky Cauldron´ this time?"  
  
"Sure," came the reply, "Let's just hope that everybody survives the experience."  
  
~*~*~  
  
"It's cold," Nymphadora Tonks muttered between chattering teeth. The young Auror had wrapped herself tightly in her robes and even added a few pounds of weight to her usually slim figure. Anything to keep out the cold.  
  
Her partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt, did not spare her a glance. His lively brown eyes were fixed on the still form lying on the steel table and the small medi-wizard, who was examining it. A light prod with the wand here, another poke there, some quietly spoken incantations and the seemingly random use of potions had not brought forth any more information. The unfortunate victim, whose life had found an untimely ending in Tod Garrett's refrigerator, remained anonym. Tonks of course, being her usual resolute self, had decided to name the victim and thereby make him a person rather than an object of observation and investigation. Kingsley smiled despite the dire situation. He was very lucky to have Tonks as a partner after all, he mused. She brought just the right amount of compassion into the job to balance out his own cold professionalism. Even if she could be extremely irritating sometimes, Kingsley admitted as he watched her shift her weight from one foot to the other in order to gain some warmth.  
  
"Why is it so cold here, anyway?" she whined, running cold hands up and down her arms.  
  
"You know that they need to keep the temperature down, Tonks." Kingsley explained patiently. "I believe you'd rather deal with the cold than the smell."  
  
Tonks sighed dramatically but any reply she would have made was lost as the medi- wizard finally straightened up and addressed the two Aurors.  
  
"Well my dears," he squeaked in a voice remarkably like Professor Flitwick's, "Mr. Algernon's body - that's what you called him, wasn't it, Miss Tonks? - was frozen to the core. My examination indicates that this was done magically, so that we can't really pinpoint the time of death or even the time that poor Mr. Algernon has been frozen."  
  
"So you mean that he could have been in the refrigerator for ten minutes as well as several hours according to the state his body was in?" Tonks asked, her quick mind working well despite the cold.  
  
"Exactly, Miss Tonks." The medi-wizard replied. "Furthermore, I have run some checks on the blood that was found on the floor. It's pig's blood, apparently from some steaks they were storing in the fridge. However, you did make some photos of it, didn't you?"  
  
Kingsley nodded solemnly. Of course they had. It was standard procedure, after all. If they were lucky their examinations of the photos might even lead to the discovery of a foot- or fingerprint, although that was more than improbable. "Anything else?" Kingsley asked, quietly fighting down the growing feeling of unease that had silently crept onto him ever since the case had started.  
  
The small medi-wizard puffed, a sign of deep concentration on his part. "No," he finally squeaked, "there was no indication for the cause of Mr. Algernon's death. It is as if he has simply stopped living. We all know what that means in all likelihood," he finished mournfully. Of course he was referring to the unforgivable `Avada Kedavra´-curse. A tense silence descended on the group, each hanging on the threads of their own bitter thoughts.  
  
"All right," Kingsley finally decided, "let's see if we find some more leads. Maybe I should return to `The queasy Bludger´ or question that Quidditch-player once more. Something about him is not like it should be."  
  
"Wood, isn't it?" Tonks inquired thoughtfully. Then, suddenly her face lit up. "I think I remember him! He attended Hogwarts, right? I distinctly remember a small Quidditch-crazed Gryffindor."  
  
The medi-wizard looked puzzled. "Why would you remember that particular boy? In my time we didn't know all the children beneath our year," he recalled with a warm sparkle in his eyes.  
  
Tonks laughed. "I remember that there was this crazy first year, who would always follow us to the pitch to watch the training. He became something of a mascot, although we never told him that. I think Charley Weasley was always very amused."  
  
"Really, but -" Kingsley started, but was interrupted by an amused voice.  
  
"That he was, Nymphadora, that he was." Professor Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as the only person allowed to call Tonks by her hated first name, entered the cold room, sporting a warm smile. "I'll have you know that little Oliver even became captain of Gryffindor's Quidditch team. His smile was so broad that day that I feared the upper half of his head would fall off and we'd have to call for Madame Pomfrey."  
  
"Albus! What a surprise!" the medi-wizard quickly waddled over to the headmaster and enveloped him in a hearty hug. "What brings you here?"  
  
"This poor man, Frederick," Dumbledore nodded at the still form of `Algernon´. "I have been asked to take a look him while I'm around."  
  
"So?" Kingsley prompted, getting back to the business at hand. "Do you recognize him?"  
  
Dumbledore studied the body closely, bushy brows furrowed thoughtfully. Finally, he sighed regretfully. "I believe that there is nothing I can help you with right now." Having said that Dumbledore turned on his heels and made his way to the door. However, before leaving he secretly slipped a small parchment reading "Meet me for dinner at the Headquarter" into Kingsley's hand. Then, the headmaster left for real.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Please let me know if you want to be notified when I update :)  
  
Next chapter: What is Dumbledore going to tell Kingsley and Tonks? What will happen, when Oliver and Hermione try to spend an eventless afternoon together? And who is `Mr. Algernon´? - Most of that will be answered. ;-)  
  
Oh! And we're finally moving towards the romance-stuff!  
  
Comments: Please forgive me my poor formatting. I STILL haven't figured out how to do that properly. Maybe that's something I can tackle this year. ;-)  
  
I thank all my wonderful reviewers for bearing with me. Words can't describe my joy whenever I read one of your reviews. It really makes my day! :)  
  
Blood 57: Ahem.unfortunately, I wasn't as fast with my updates this time. However, that's all Oliver's fault! I had to re-write the first part of this chapter three times until I felt that it was sufficient. Life's hard, isn't it? ;)  
  
Woodelf193: Trust me, I will continue. I already have the plot for the next two chapters in head! The only thing that might stop me now are exams *shiver*  
  
Queenofdiamonds1: Oliver's weird? How did you get that idea? ;-)  
  
Hallie Walker: This chapter refused to turn out right, which is it took me so long to update. Sorry :)  
  
Dyrim123: I hope you'll like the rest of it, too. Beginning with the next chapter the romance starts (slowly) and the investigation becomes more serious. :)  
  
L'Eau Goddess: Awwww! You added me to your favourites! Hugs! Lots of virtual hugs to you! Thanks *blushes* :)  
  
Laura Buzali: Why did everyone get the idea that Oliver would quit Quidditch? He SHOULD quit, but he won't! Nothing short of death could keep our favourite Keeper from a broomstick and I'm surely not going to change that! :) 


	5. 05

For disclaimer please see prologue.  
  
Individual `Thank you's´ for my kind reviewers can be found at the bottom of the chapter.  
  
~*~*~*~*~ CHAPTER 04 ~*~*~*~*~  
  
Despite serving as headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix for nearly two years now, Grimmauld Place # 12 had kept its own, unique charm. That meant, of course, that visitors were still graciously greeted by the portrait of the late Mrs. Black (despite the Order's most desperate tries to get to keep quiet) with charming cries of "Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half- breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place!"(1)  
  
Once that obstacle was passed, leaving the visitor half-deaf in most occasions, the way would lead up a wooden staircase, along a tranquil hallway decorated with plates which held the heads of the beheaded House-Elves of the Black household, until one finally reached the drawing room. This room, after months of careful cleaning, had become the headquarter within the headquarter so to speak. The now Doxy-free curtains were clean and of a rich emerald colour. Chairs and tables from other rooms had been carried into the drawing room, as well as several well-warded bookcases containing more ancient tomes about the dark arts than the restricted section in Hogwarts' library did.  
  
And in the midst of it all, nestled into a fluffy armchair next to a crackling fire, sat Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of Wizardry and Witchcraft. It was like this, that Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks found him, after they had finally managed to slip away from their jobs at the Ministry of Magic.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" Kingsley addressed the unofficial leader of the Order, "You wanted to talk to us?"  
  
The old man's bushy brows furrowed in confusion for a short moment, then smiled at the Aurors. "Why, yes," he answered, "It's about the case you're currently working on. I fear you have stumbled onto something more complicated than your usual work this time." Tonks and Kingsley exchanged a look. Even more complicated? Their usual work held enough excitement already!  
  
Dumbledore sighed heavily as he conjured two armchairs for the Aurors. "Sit down," he said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. "This may take a while."  
  
Shrugging, Tonks and Kingsley did as they were told and almost immediately a shaky little table with two cups of hot, steaming cocoa materialized between them.  
  
"Would you like some sherbet lemons as well?" Dumbledore offered, a hint of the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. After his two visitors declined, the headmaster returned to the problem at hand. "That man, who was found in the refrigerator. I knew him."  
  
Tonks' head flew up immediately. "Then why didn't you say-?"  
  
Kingsley held up a restraining hand. "Professor Dumbledore must have a good reason."  
  
"That I have, indeed. Mr. Pickle - for that is his name, Mortimer Pickle - worked for the Order of the Phoenix!"  
  
Tonks gasped but any comment she would have made was drowned out by Kingsley's slow, deep voice. "How come we have never met him? We didn't even know about his existence."  
  
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "That is the point, Kingsley. You have surely noticed how the numbers of Death Eaters are growing steadily? And how there is apparently nobody to recruit them?"  
  
Tonks and Kingsley nodded. It was downright maddening to chase down low- ranking Death Eaters, only to find that with each apprehended one two new ones seemed to appear. Nobody knew how or where they were recruited. It was absolutely impossible to gain access to You-Know-Who's circle, especially after Snape's cover had been blown.  
  
"Well," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Pickle posed as a possible recruit and, after a year of hard work, was approached by the Death Eaters. Before he was murdered," the headmaster leaned forward to emphasize his next words, "before he was murdered he managed to send me a message. He was supposed to meet me and tell me the name of a high-ranking Death Eater, who is in charge of recruiting new members. However, all he was able to tell me before he died was that this person, whose name sadly remains a mystery to me at this point, is involved in Quidditch. He is somehow connected with Puddlemere United."  
  
"Wood!" Kingsley rose in a fluid motion as the familiar feeling of hunting a suspect rushed through his veins. "I knew there was something off about him! The evidence suggests that -"  
  
"In case that you're talking about Oliver Wood, Kingsley," Tonks interrupted, "then the evidence suggests merely that he's obsessed with Quidditch. I can hardly believe that the boy even notices anything else."  
  
"There is more to him, Tonks! He's a pure-blood. Who would suspect a Quidditch- obessed kid to work for You-Know-Who? He's perfect! And he's an eidetic!"  
  
"An eidetic?" Dumbledore murmured quietly in his seat, "That explains some things." The old wizard cleared his throat loudly then gestured towards Kingsley's abandoned seat. "Sit down. There is no need for such agitation. While I personally cannot believe that Oliver would work for Voldemort, I have to admit that he is in a highly suspicious position. However, having an eidetic on our side - in Oliver's position at that! - would be a great bonus for the Order."  
  
"Are you implying that we should introduce Wood to the Order?" Tonks asked with narrowed eyes. Although she had always liked Wood in the past, several years of working as an Auror had taught her to treasure caution. "I can't imagine him as a Death Eater either, but being likeable doesn't automatically qualify him to join."  
  
Dumbledore nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This is why we need to find out if he's trustworthy enough to join."  
  
"And how do you suggest we do that?" Kingsley raised a sceptical eyebrow, making Dumbledore smile even broader for some unfathomable reason.  
  
"I believe Miss Granger could help us with that." The headmaster finally supplied, looking very pleased with himself.  
  
If possible, Kingsley's eyebrow rose even higher. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew about that," the tall man murmured before taking another sip from his cocoa.  
  
Dumbledore merely smiled and vowed to get Crookshanks an extra-tasty piece of fish. He was really an exceptionally clever cat.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"I'm still convinced that "The three Broomsticks" is the place where you get the best butterbeer. It has a more appealing name, too." Oliver Wood flashed his companion what he thought was his most charming smile. However, the bushy- haired young woman in front of him seemed oblivious to his charms.  
  
"Oliver," Hermione admonished him as if he were a stubborn child, "Don't try to change the subject."  
  
"I'm not!" The young Keeper assured her with innocent wide eyes and a small smile.  
  
Hermione sighed in defeat. This was worse than dealing with Ron! "Oliver," she began anew.  
  
"Did I ever mention that I like the way you say my name? The way it rolls off your tongue."  
  
Hermione felt her blood rising into her cheeks and quickly hid behind her mass of brown hair. "You're really trying everything to get out of this, don't you?"  
  
He beamed at her. "Does it work?"  
  
"No!" Hermione replied, a bit too forceful for her taste. She cleared her throat in an attempt to regain her composure. "Anyway, I've been researching the phenomenon of `eidetics´. The first recorded case of an `eidetic´ can be found in 1762, Mr. Gulliver Waffling. The first manifestation of his ability was somewhere around his fourteenth birthday. People didn't really know how to act around him, so eventually Waffling went into isolation after some.incidents."  
  
Interested despite his resolution to deny the whole `eidetic-issue´ Oliver leaned forward. "What kind of incidents?"  
  
Hermione rummaged around in her back and produced what looked like a giant compilation of random notes, held together by a golden-red band. "I've made some notes," she explained, then added upon receiving Oliver's questioning glance, "I've also colour-coded them."  
  
"Ah," Oliver said intelligently. As far as he could recall Quidditch- strategies were the only thing in his life he had ever colour-coded. "Well, what incidents?"  
  
"I couldn't find anything exact about it. Some mention self-inflicted wounds, random screaming. Madness. He went mad before his twentieth birthday." Hermione sighed. "Later on, people began to believe that `eidetics´ could be healed by lack of stimulation. There is the case of Miranda Bunbury from the late 1860'ies who was held in a dark room, devoid of any visual stimulation."  
  
"What happened to her?"  
  
Hermione gulped. "She went mad with fifteen and committed suicide only a short while later."  
  
Oliver snorted. "Wonderful. I feel so much better knowing this. Aren't there any happy `eidetics´?"  
  
"From what my research revealed," Hermione hesitated, "no."  
  
"Brilliant," Wood commented sarcastically. "But I'm happy. As far as I can tell I haven't gone mad either."  
  
"Not yet. For causes unknown your talent seems to have manifested itself only very late in life." "That it has," he agreed calmly, "Why though?"  
  
The question hung between them ominously and both pondered it silently. While thinking Oliver's eyes roamed through `The leaky Cauldron´. It had filled up considerable since their arrival. There was a small, black-haired wizard with a scarred face and empty blue eyes. Next to him sat a quirky witch with flyaway hair and a knobbly nose. Her robes were purple with tiny stars on them. 465 stars to be exact. There were a couple of wizards longing around a table, spilling their drinks and singing in hoarse voices. One of them had a patched hat with exactly ten wrinkles in it. His face was like parchment. Exactly fourteen bean-shaped birthmarks. There were three hairs on his nose, shaped like.but there! Opposite to the wizard Oliver could see some candles burning down, flames flickering, worn-out shoes in at least six different sizes, people holding glasses filled with butterbeer.foamy, yellowish.it was all so bright.so loud.no air.no.  
  
A sharp pain in his cheek brought Oliver back to the present.  
  
"Oliver!" a distant voice called. "Look at me!"  
  
He tried. He really did, but the focus seemed to slip away from him. So many impressions, so many colours, textures, shadows.  
  
"Oliver!" the voice insisted and something positioned his face in front of two imploring brown eyes. They had the colour of Oliver's morning coffee. Warm, rich.  
  
"That's it," the voice floated back into his senses, "Look into my eyes. Shut out the rest. Narrow down the stimuli, Oliver."  
  
He struggled to keep his focus on the eyes in front of him. There were tiny cream- coloured spots swimming in the sea of brown. Someone had obviously added some milk to the coffee. That's how he also drank it. Rich and sweet.  
  
"Oliver?" the voice sounded a bit frantic. "Look at me! Don't slip away! Breathe."  
  
He did that. Stubbornly he locked his gaze onto the brown eyes in front of him and breathed. Slowly. In and out. In and out.  
  
Finally, finally the brightness receded, the onslaught of information ceased and the hurt in Oliver's cheek was more prominent then before. Breathing hard, as if he had just chased around the Hoops on the Quidditch field for the past few hours, Oliver Wood came back to the land of the living. And almost gasped. His face was cupped by both of Hermione's hands and their foreheads were touching. It was for some inexplicable reason .the most embarrassing moment ever since he had been caught by the Weasley twins kissing Katie Bell behind the locker rooms! He flushed bright red in an instant.  
  
"Hermione?" he stammered. "What?"  
  
Hermione, who had to shake herself out of her stupor as well, broke into a relieved smile. "I slapped you," she said.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Your cheek. You zoned out and I slapped you. I hoped it would snap you back to reality."  
  
"Oh," Oliver breathed, then smiled, "For someone who looks so delicate you sure pack a punch," he chuckled.  
  
Hermione returned the smile. "I guess Malfoy will agree with you."  
  
"Malfoy? Did you-?" Oliver's smile broadened, "You slapped him, too? I always thought Ron was the hot-blooded one of the Trio!"  
  
Now it was Hermione's turn to blush. However, she did look pleased with herself. Finally, she broke the companionable silence. "That's what happened in `The queasy Bludger´ before you fainted, isn't it? The frequency is increasing, Oliver and we need to do something about it before you go crazy!" She took his hands in a reassuring gesture. "There is NO way you can talk this away. You zoned out and it'll happen more often from now on. Will you let me help you?"  
  
He bit his lip for a moment, then - upon reaching a decision - looked back at her. "Yes," Oliver agreed, "but do you have any idea how to get a grip on this? Or what you're getting yourself into? "  
  
Neither had an answer to that.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
Please let me know if I should mail you when I update. :)  
  
COMMENTS: First of all, `Thank you´ for all the wonderful feedback. Tomorrow, school starts again and my time will be limited, so I decided to bring this chapter out as fast as possible before I get too side-tracked by real life. :-)  
  
I'm especially curious what you think about this chapter, because here the story finally gains a little speed, in my opinion.  
  
A/N:  
  
MONKEYSTARZ: Thank you for your nice comments! They were really inspiring! :)  
  
ELVEN WARRIOR1: Thank you. I'm giving my best. And I'm on your favourites list! Hugs! Schoogles! :D  
  
MRSWILLTURNER: Thank you so much for putting me on your favourites list! I feel so special! Virtual hugs to you! :D  
  
DEMETRE IRONHILT: I love Dumbledore, too, but he's so hard to write. I always feel that I'm writing him OC. Anyway, this must have been one of my fastest updates ever :)  
  
ARUAL-CHAN: Hi! I'm still waiting for your H/O-fic, you know. Write! Now! ;)  
  
L'EAU GODDESS: Yes, the two storylines are connected, as is proven with this chapter (I hope). Thank you so much for your kind review :)  
  
(1) Quoted from OotP, page 74, British edition 


	6. Interlude : Talking to friends

For disclaimer please see prologue. Comments and `Thank you's´ for my wonderful reviewers can be found - as usual - at the bottom. Happy reading! :-)  
  
~*~*~*~ INTERLUDE: TALKING TO FRIENDS ~*~*~*~  
  
Saturday morning dawned grey and unpleasant on Rosebud Corner # 24, a small street running parallel to the crowded and famous Diagon Alley. This tranquil part of wizarding London was inhabited by ancient witches, eccentric old wizards who passed their time by talking to their carpets, one or two small wizard- families on the brink of moving somewhere else and - two young men who had fallen in love with the upper floor of the old house that bore the number 24.  
  
It had been almost two years now that Oliver Wood, newly hired reserve Keeper for Puddlemere United, and Percy Weasley, rising star in the Ministry of Magic, had decided to rent the upper half of the house and turn it into a flat fit for inhabiting the two most different persons one could imagine. And despite the numerous bets made against this most unusual combination of flatmates, the arrangement held.  
  
Oliver took another sip of his hot, creamy coffee as he stared out of the window. About a year ago the young man had come up with the brilliant idea that he needed to see the sky when he planned his moves as a Keeper, so consequently he and Percy had teamed up to charm the classical French window into a window bay, where Oliver could nestle into an arrangement of pillows and dream about flying. He had claimed this spot as his own ever since.  
  
Wood scrunched up his nose in distaste at the millions of tiny drops of rain that fell relentlessly from the grey sky. `There goes the training for the day, ´ he thought miserably, already dreading a day without a couple of hours of extreme physical exertion. He always got depressed when he couldn't make some sport. With a deep sigh he picked up the book that Hermione had lent him yesterday and resumed his reading. Why did all the facts seem to make more sense when Hermione said them? Oliver failed to keep a smile from appearing on his face as he recalled her reactions to his harmless flirting. It was fun seeing her blush and get flustered. And - deep down he had to admit that - it felt good to know that he was able to make a young woman react to him that way. Spending time with Hermione was surprisingly - pleasant?  
  
"Wood?" Percy's sleepy voice dragged Oliver forcefully from his thoughts. "'S that my cup?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Was looking for my coffee cup. Need caffeine," Percy supplied with bleary eyes. He redhead blinked sleepily, then sniffed. "Do I smell coffee? Heavenly, divine, praised coffee?" Oliver's small smile had developed into a full-blown grin by now. There was nothing as funny as a sleep- and caffeine-deprived Percy on a Saturday morning. It was amazing what this Weasley would promise to get his hands on some coffee. Such as promising to do the laundry for the coming week, Oliver thought amusedly.  
  
"Oliver?" Percy whined in his most pitiful voice, looking like someone had kicked his puppy. Sighing dramatically, Wood left his beloved spot and headed for the kitchen. Several similar mornings had proven that Percy should not, under NO circumstances, touch anything breakable before he'd had a thorough infusion of caffeine.  
  
"Thanks, Ol'," Percy sighed, "You're the greatest. The best. My bestest friend in the whole wide world."  
  
Wood snorted as he returned with a steaming cup of black coffee for his friend. "Does Penelope know how pitiful you are in the morning?"  
  
Percy's ears turned scarlet. "We're not . she's hasn't.we're not in that phase, yet," he spluttered. "We're only dating again for what? A month? She's not that kind of girl! Besides, if you tell her I'll make sure to tell your girlfriend, whoever it is this month, that you sing under the shower! In a horrible voice, I might add." Having ingested some caffeine Percy's quick wit had returned in full sarcastic force.  
  
"How would you know that I sing under the shower?" Oliver glared at his friend.  
  
"The walls aren't that thick, you know."  
  
"Oh," Oliver admitted sheepishly. Then added carefully, "do I really sing that bad?"  
  
"Horrible," Percy supplied without looking up from his beloved coffee, "I wouldn't think about changing my career if I were you."  
  
Oliver mumbled something unintelligible when Percy's voice stopped him in his tracks.  
  
"By the way, how's Hermione?"  
  
Wood nearly dropped his cup as he spun around. "How do you know?"  
  
"I have my ways," Percy smirked. "I'll have you know that if you break her heart you'll have the entire Weasley clan, including Harry of course, out for your blood. The twins can be especially brutal."  
  
"I don't feel that way about her," Oliver said firmly, wondering about the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach as he did so.  
  
Percy merely raised an eyebrow as he turned to leave the living- room. "Are you sure? She's another calibre than the girls you're used to."  
  
"I know," Oliver whispered at his friend's retreating back. "Merlin knows, I do."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
They were halfway through their second cup of tea respectively, when Tonks decided that it was time to address the reason for her visit to the Granger household. So, after savouring another taste of the wonderfully flavoured caramel-tea Hermione had provided her with, Tonks pulled out her wand and murmured a quiet isolation-charm, earning a discontent hiss from Crookshanks for her efforts. Hermione, on the other hand, merely looked curiously at her from her comfortable spot on the sofa.  
  
"Something you'd like to tell me, Tonks?" Hermione inquired while patting Crookshanks' straggly fur.  
  
The Auror nodded. "Yes. Dumbledore has talked to Kingsley and me yesterday. It concerns the identity of the victim in `The Queasy Bludger´."  
  
"Oh," Hermione merely said as she suppressed a shudder.  
  
"The thing is," Tonks continued a little insecure, "The problem is that the victim was a member of the Order."  
  
That got Hermione's attention and she leaned forward, startling poor Crookshanks once more. "Tell me."  
  
Tonks barely restrained a relieved sigh as she saw her friend going into `business-mode´ as the Auror had named it. Hermione was clearly very interested in the case, which would make it all easier. "He was an undercover-spy by the name of Mortimer Pickle, which is why none of us knew him personally. Pickle was investigating a high-ranking Death-Eater in charge of recruiting new followers for You-Know-Who. He was about to meet Dumbledore and give him some information when he was found dead. Which is where you come in." Tonks trailed off.  
  
"How is that?" Hermione quietly asked, her mind already working through the new information.  
  
Tonks sighed. She had put up a great fight against the decision to involve Hermione any further into the investigations. Things were already far too dangerous for a schoolgirl and Tonks felt it in her guts that things would get even worse before they'd hopefully get better. "This Death Eater Pickle was investigating has close ties to a Quidditch team. Puddlemere United to be exact."  
  
Hermione's sharp intake of breath was answer enough. Surely her bushy- haired friend suspected Wood as well, Tonks concluded.  
  
"Is Oliver in danger?" Hermione asked concern evident in her voice.  
  
"I don't know." Tonks laughed humourlessly. "Kingsley suspects him to be involved in this mess. And Dumbledore, well he decided that someone has to find out for sure."  
  
"You want me to find out whether Oliver is a Death Eater or not? Because I assure you - " Hermione spluttered incredulously, but was interrupted by the older woman.  
  
"No," Tonks responded, "It's worse. We want you to take Pickle's mission. Get close to Puddlemere United. Find the Death Eater."  
  
"And how do you suggest I should do that? For all I know Pickle was a fully- trained spy and look where he ended up!"  
  
Tonks averted her eyes. Hermione was clearly voicing all of her own doubts. "I know, Herm. Trust me, we've been through this with Dumbledore for hours and hours and there is simply no other way. Lives are at stake here and, if it's any consolation for you, Dumbledore believes you're fit for the job." Tonks took a deep breath before facing Hermione again. "So do I."  
  
Taking comfort in the vote of confidence from both, Dumbledore and her esteemed friend Tonks, Hermione nodded slowly. "I'll do it, but I want you to sign my S.P.E.W.-petition for that!" she demanded, trying to light the situation.  
  
"It's done." Tonks smirked, although a bad feeling still lingered. She had hoped that Hermione would refuse the mission. The young Auror was exceptionally bad at watching close friends getting into danger without being able to do something about it. Tonks had lost too many friends already.  
  
"Well," Hermione broke through Tonks' dark thoughts, "The question still remains. How do I get inside information of Puddlemere? Especially since I need to verify everything first hand and can't ask Oliver about second hand information?"  
  
Tonks smiled playfully. "I've been told that their charming reserve Keeper is single. And that the players' girlfriends and wives often interact with the whole team."  
  
Hermione nearly chocked on her tea. "Nym-pha-DO-ra! I can hardly seduce Oliver in order to gain information on Puddlemere!"  
  
"I never said anything about seducing him!" Tonks laughed, "Although that's a great idea," she added with a conspiratorial wink as Hermione turned an alarmingly bright shade of red. "I always knew there was a lioness in you, Herm."  
  
Hermione, still fighting a loosing battle to regain her dignity, sniffed and drew herself up. "This is hardly a very ethical behaviour."  
  
Tonks shrugged. "Is it any more ethical to spare his feelings, let You-Know- Who gain more followers and power and risk the death to even more innocents?"  
  
"That's a very Slytherin kind of argumentation," Hermione commented icily, watching Tonks smirk as her nose became large and rather hooked.  
  
"What can I say?" The Metamorphmagus said, "Our dear Sevvie is rubbing off on me."  
  
"For Merlin's sake!" Hermione gasped, "You're talking about my Potion's Professor! There is no way I can ever look at him again without thinking about the doom that will await you when he hears you calling him `Sevvie´."  
  
Tonks nearly fell off her chair as laughter shook her whole body. "Maybe I should call him `my greasy-haired muffin´ instead?"  
  
Hermione, whose incredible brain refused to ponder the implications of this, merely shook her head in despair and wondered what could be worse - facing this conversation with the ever-playful Tonks, infiltrating a group of Quidditch- obsessed madmen or hunting a high-ranking Death Eater. In the end, Hermione concluded, the greatest challenge might well be working along a very special Quidditch-obsessed maniac. `Damn you Oliver Wood,´ Hermione thought viciously. After breaking up with Viktor Krum she had promised herself not to fall for another Quidditch player's charm.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
NEXT CHAPTER: Hermione moves onto dangerous terrain - the Quidditch pitch! Oh, and there's an evil Death Eater on the loose, too.  
  
~*~*~*~*~  
  
COMMENTS: Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments! They inspired me to write this little interlude - although I really didn't have the time to do so. Sigh. Plot-bunnies are vicious creatures, aren't they? ;-)  
  
BLOOD 57: So you like an embarrassed Oliver? Look forward to the next chapters, then! The poor lad won't know what hit him ;)  
  
CHERENMAY: Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you for adding me to your favourites! I feel very special! You can see that it also inspired me to write a little faster than I had planned! :)  
  
BOUNDANDBROKEN: I had to warm up to the whole Oliver/Hermione-thing as well, but when I did - well, you can see just how much I like them. Loads of virtual hugs to you for putting me on your favourites-list. Thank you *smiles very, very broadly*  
  
MONKEYSTARZ: Hi! Herm slapped him because she panicked and didn't know how to snap him out of his `trance´. She's a very physical kind of gal, when she gets agitated ;-)  
  
DYRIM 123: Hope you like the rest as well, because personally, I think there's no harder thing than writing a budding romance without becoming too kitschy. Please warn me as soon as it gets too stupid :)  
  
L'EAU GODDESS: To be honest, the last chapter is also my favourite one. However, I'm slowly getting to the point where the characters write themselves. Take Tonks in this chapter for example! I can honestly say that I was shocked when she started fan-girling Snape! ;)  
  
DRAGON SCALES 1: Ahem.all right. Oliver and his coffee associations. Actually, I tried being original here (however, I guess I was more odd than original). Firstly I wanted to present them with an opportunity to stare into each other's eyes in an original way and secondly I didn't want to talk about "chocolate, cinnamon, hazel etc." eyes because that has been used far too often. Besides, I like coffee ;-)  
  
LAURA BUZALI: Hello! To answer your question, the eidetic witch Hermione was referring to went mad with fifteen years. I'll correct it when I revise the story. Thanks for pointing it out :)  
  
FAITH AND GRACE: It's a pleasure to hear from you, especially since I rather enjoy your story as well. We're keeping each other inspired, aren't we? ;)  
  
MYSTRIPEDSKIRT: I thank you for a wonderful review. It really made me feel a lot more secure about my story, since I always fear the threats of OOC- ness, predictability and rushed and unrealistic romances. Also a heartfelt thank you for putting me on your favourites-list. Loads of hugs! :-) 


	7. 06

Please see prologue for disclaimer 

A/N: I guess most of you thought that I had abandoned this story, right? Well, obviously I haven't and since it's still about three weeks until I'll have the time to write a longer chapter I thought I might at least give you a little aperitif.

Thank you all so very very much for your support. I really appreciate it :)

There will be individual Thank you's´ at the ending of the next chapter, ok? See you soon :)

**CHAPTER 05 **

"I am most displeased," a cold, high-pitched voice filled the small chamber and sent shivers of fear down its sole occupant's spine who bowed deeper, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"I know my Lord," he whispered hoarsely. "I will do better next time."

"Next time!" Voldemort, who had once been known as Tom Marvolo Riddle to the world, hissed. "Next week your work must be fulfilled! Everything must be ready!"

"Yes, my Lord," the Death Eater promised in a subdued voice. "Everything will be prepared by the time our team will play the Charity match for St. Mungo's. What a most ingenious idea it was to attack then, if I may say so, my Lord..."

"Quiet!" Voldemort's servant cringed as he heard the anger in his master's voice. "Of course it was an ingenious idea. It was _my _idea, after all." Cold shivers of fear trickled down the Death Eater's back as Voldemort laughed in an unpleasant voice. "Yes! Puddlemere's Charity match will be the perfect opportunity! Raising funds for my victims, indeed! Delusional fools!"

The Death Eater bit his lip. There was one thing he had yet to tell his master. A thing that would most definitely not please Lord Voldemort. Summoning all of his - rather meagre – courage the servant spoke up once more. "My Lord, there is one more thing." He took a deep breath before continuing, "Dumbledore will attend the match as a spectator. I'm afraid he's a great supporter of Puddlemere United."

It would take hours until the uncontrollable shaking had subsided enough for the Death Eater to be able to face his team-mates again. This was getting more complicated by the minute.

Oliver Wood had always thought of himself as a simple person. He liked simple things – Quidditch, a nice glass of butterbeer every now and then, Quidditch, music by the Weird Sisters, Quidditch – in short, nothing out of the ordinary. However, that had all changed with the arrival of one young witch by the name of Hermione Granger. In retrospect, the young Keeper thought as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he should have let Hermione get the Chudley Cannons book without putting up a fight. His life would definitely be a lot less complicated. And a lot less fun, Oliver mused as he finally took a steadying breath and pressed the doorbell to the Granger household. In the morning when Dan Halcombe, his team-mate on Puddlemere United, had invited him and that charming young lady from the day before´ to a spontaneous little Quidditch-party, everything had sounded like a great idea. Wood had borrowed Hermes from a suspiciously enthusiastic Percy (Oliver heavily suspected that Percy planned to invite Penelope during his absence), sent Hermione a note and went off to get his not-quite-date´ some flowers. Right. So if Hermione was only accompanying him as a friend, Oliver thought with a growing sense of hysteria, then why did his stomach decide to knot and twist itself while he stared at the door? Incidentally, it was right then that a small, distinguished-looking man opened it.

"Sorry, my boy, but Margaret was making such a noise that I didn't hear you straight away," the man smiled before offering his hand. "I'm Thomas Granger. You're Mr. Wood, I presume?"

Oliver nodded hastily. "Yes, sir. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, Mr. Wood," Dr. Granger said as he led Oliver into a tidy, but very comfortable living room. "Hermione's still upstairs. You know how young ladies are! They're never on time."

Oliver laughed somewhat nervously when Dr. Granger suddenly fixed him with a glare.

"Mr. Wood."

Oliver gulped. "Yes?"

"My Hermione is a special young lady. I hope you realize that and I do hope that your intentions are honourable."

Oliver nodded earnestly. What was he getting himself into?

However, Dr. Granger looked pacified and laid a comforting hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Good. I'd hate to hurt you, boy. You look like a decent young man, even though the front-teeth of your lower jaw stand a bit narrow together." Dr. Granger laughed jovially as he saw Oliver's bewildered expression. "Nothing to worry about, son! It's not as bad that you should visit an orthodontologist!"

Wood, who was really frightened by this odd man had retreated until his back touched the wall. No woman was worth facing this, Oliver thought desperately as he started looking around for a possible escape-route. However, whatever drastic measures Wood had planned to resort to in order to save his sanity were interrupted by Hermione's arrival. Oliver's breath involuntary caught in throat as he caught a glimpse of her surprisingly shapely legs coming down the stairs. Well, he amended his earlier thoughts, maybe some women were indeed worth the trouble.

"Daddy," she called in a surprisingly stern voice, "stop harassing Oliver!"

Dr. Granger seemed untroubled and smiled warmly at his daughter. "I wasn't harassing anybody, Hermy. Mr. Wood and I were merely having a nice chat between men, right lad?"

Oliver nodded distractedly. Who would have thought that bookworm Granger could look so...so...he was at a loss for words, while an oblivious Hermione scowled at her father. Then, in a sudden blur of motion she turned around and faced Oliver with a brilliant smile and a slight blush. "Hello Oliver."

"Hello," he breathed, relieved beyond belief when Hermione firmly grabbed his hand and led him out of that madhouse into the cool afternoon air.

"Don't let him scare you," Hermione said as she and Oliver strolled down a quiet alley on their way to the Halcombes' house. Over an unspoken agreement the two had decided to walk there rather than to use Floo-powder or Apparate (especially considering the fact that Hermione didn't have her Apparition-licence yet). This way they could enjoy the tranquillity and each others company a bit longer before plunging themselves into the loud and boisterous atmosphere that was typical of Don Halcombe's parties.

Oliver gave Hermione a wry smile. "Do _you _think there's something wrong with my teeth? I shudder to think what your father would have thought of Marcus Flint in my stead."

"I shudder to think what I'd do if you were Marcus Flint." Hermione laughed, "And trust me, your teeth are just fine. Dad's doing this to everyone, Harry, Ron, even poor Viktor." She paused a while in reminiscence. "It wasn't pleasant. Viktor refused to come close to dad ever since their first meeting."

Oliver shook his head in amusement. "You _do _have a thing for Quidditch players, don't you?"

Hermione stopped and looked squarely into Wood's eyes. "I was under the impression that I'm accompanying you only as a friend," she challenged him in a low voice.

A roughish grin tugged at Oliver's mouth as he too, stopped and leaned into her personal space. "We've never determined just how close of a friend you are to me."

"We didn't?" Hermione breathed, captivated by slight curve of his lips and that irresistible Scottish accent of his, as he smiled.

"No, but we really should, shouldn't we?" Oliver leaned closer, gently pulling Hermione towards himself. His eyes closed as the distance between their lips decreased. Hermione held her breath, lips parting ever so slightly as –

"Oliver Wood!" a jovial voice shattered the moment. "What are you thinking snogging your girlfriend in my lawn?"

Growling in frustration Wood drew back from Hermione without having even touched her lips and glared at his team-mate. "Hello Don," he grumbled, "your timing is impeccable, as usual."

Don merely grinned and led the two inside where a noisy crowd was already assembled.

The Death Eater had been attending the silly party for over two hours by now. He had been forced to listen to idle chatter from his so-called colleagues from the team as well as their dim-witted wives, husbands, boy- and girlfriends. The earlier meeting with the Dark Lord had left him with an unpleasant feeling of fear yet also with a gnawing sense of urgency. Tonight, he would have to make his move. He had no more time to waste. It had to happen tonight. The Death Eater straightened his back determinedly, forced his facial muscles into a fake smile and went looking for his target.

TBC...


End file.
